


Well, What's Your Muse?

by walkwithme



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Arthur, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Arthur, POV Merlin, Poor Merlin, Rich Arthur, Secret Agent, spy arthur, writer Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithme/pseuds/walkwithme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the third time this week, Merlin--a trying journalist--had to work overtime just to file in a story that was two weeks overdue. He was used to it by now, locking up and going home to write even more, but when an unscheduled storm reigns over the sky out of the blue and a almost dead cell phone hits him, he ducks for shelter in a convenient phone booth. However, he wasn't used to being locked in one and suddenly dropped into a top secret agent base, let alone be dropped on someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, What's Your Muse?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/133244) by auideas. 



> I do not own any of the characters! This plot was inspired by a bunch of AU's I happened upon. I hope you enjoy!

Merlin had worked overtime for the third time this week. It was three in the morning on a Friday when he sleepily stumbled out of his office building, and only three thirty when he finally managed to get the key in the door and successfully lock up.

How he managed to get caught in locking up once again, he didn’t know, but something about the thought of a twenty-three year old staying overtime to manage to get his story in on time made the brilliant idea pop into his boss’ mind.

It wasn’t like Merlin was thrilled about the idea of locking up for the third time, but it wasn’t like he could flatly tell his boss ‘No’. He couldn’t come up with a lie either. He didn’t sugarcoat when he said his life was his work. He had no wife to return home to, no kids, no friends, nothing.

He tried not to let it bother him that much as he walked down Main Street. The roads were dead, like every other night he worked overtime. Merlin pulled out his phone and checked the charge.

9%

He sighed, shoving it back into his sweatshirt’s pocket. There was no way Gwen would pick up at this time and even if she somehow did, he wouldn’t be able to explain exactly why he was calling at three in the morning again for the third night in a row for a ride. But when the wind picked up, he dove for cover in an old telephone booth on the side of the street.

As Merlin slid the door behind him, he glanced around at his tight surroundings. He didn’t even know telephone boxes even were around anymore, and if so, he’s never seen one let alone stand in one. He glanced out the glass walls to where lightning flashed across the red sky.

Merlin furred his eyebrows. There were definitely no scheduled rainstorms anytime this week, but when he heard the thunder rumble in the distance he quickly reached into his pocket and fumbled for a quarter.

Gwen would understand why he was calling this time. The other two nights it was out of pure laziness, but this time he had a legitimate reason on why he could not walk another two blocks to his apartment.

When he did find a quarter—not in his pockets, which he saw coming since his last rent bled him dry—in the tray underneath the phone, he let out a silent prayer thanking whoever left one behind.

Now, Merlin never even saw a phone box before—let alone use one—and he began to panic. But then again, how hard could it be? He took a step closer towards the phone and pushed the coin through the slot. He picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear, raising his finger to dial in the number he memorized and stopping dead in his tracks.

Where the numbers Merlin thought would be, was a smooth metal plate of the phone hanger. Confused, Merlin searched the phone for any sign of numbers. It was too late when he heard a small click of a lock.

Dropping the phone, he spun around and eyed the door incredulously. Did it just lock him in here? Could it even do that? He pressed his palm against the glass and pushed the door to the side, desperate to leave the small box. When it didn’t budge, he began to feel claustrophobic.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he was hyperventilating until he felt a lost for breath. He mentally slapped himself for panicking so quickly and turned back to the dangling phone. There had to be a dial of some sort. Why else would there be a phone box in the middle of nowhere?

He sighed, picking up the phone. Even though he felt completely stupid already he coughed out a weak, “Hello?”

Merlin didn’t really know what he was expecting. It was definitely not a reply.  The other line was quiet and he could feel Gwen making fun of him in the back of his head.  _Have fun taking to a phone booth, Merlin? Was their personality just jaw dropping? I need all the details._

After about five or ten minutes, rain started to poor. Merlin’s fear soon turned to anger and with a punch and a kick at the wall, he started to hear a sort of deep rumbling below him. Merlin let out a breath and all his anger flooded out of him in place of confusion. “What the—“

The last word wasn’t able to escape his lips as the floor began to rumble and before he knew it, split in two and sent him down a deep and dark tunnel. Merlin let out a yelp as he let out a flail to keep him from falling and desperately failing. He was quickly engulfed in darkness when he heard a soft _plop_ of another quarter hitting the tray.

* * *

 

When he came to, it was dark. The first thought that ran through Merlin’s head was of course, ‘Oh my god, I’m dead. I’m _dead_. Gwen’s going to _kill_ me’.

It wasn’t until he felt a throb in his head and felt something drip onto his hand when he realized he wasn’t dead. Yet.

He sat up slowly and when he felt his hands sink into something, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t dead due to landing on what seems like a mattress of some sort, but when he pressed his feet down, it was concrete. It was too dark to see in front of his eyes, so using his hands he felt underneath him. It was strangely warm, and in some areas soft, but when his hand got more to the left he felt something softer—silky almost.

Intrigued, he gave it a small tug only to be met with a small growl. “Can you _not_ pull my hair after you fall on me?”

Merlin jumped to his feet and strained his eyes to see, “Shit, sorry! I can’t see a thing here, I thought you were a mattress—“

“Are you calling me _fat_?” the voice barked incredulously. Due to the graveness in the voice, Merlin came to the conclusion that the voice belonged to a guy. Based off of the scuffling noises he heard, Merlin had guessed he had gotten up. Merlin raked a hand through his hair unconsciously. “Well, I mean, I just—“

“Who the hell even are you?” the guy questioned, “How’d you even get down here?” Before Merlin could even answer the first question, he felt two hands grasp the front of his shirt and then a shove. Before he knew it, he was pinned against a wall.

In the dark.

By some strange man.

He was _so_ dead.

“So help me God if you’re working for Uther,“ the guy hissed, his grasp tightening at an alarming rate. Merlin’s mouth and mind froze. After a split second, he felt another shove. It was harder this time and Merlin had to concentrate on his breathing when he realized he wasn't in the first place. This person--whoever they were--was so demanding it was really starting to piss Merlin off. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t skin you alive.”

“Because I’ve got wonderfully smooth skin.” Merlin mumbled, shifting under this guy’s grasp. “Smoother than melted butter. Took forever to get it this way, tell you the truth—“

“Let me try this again because obviously you don't know who I am.”

Merlin let out a scoff and couldn't help but interrupt him “Oh, I know who you are," Merlin could feel the guy tense. "You're demanding, bossy, _rude_ for one—“

It wasn’t until he felt something cool and sharp against his skin under his sweatshirt for him to suck in a breath. It took all he had to not let the panic and fear seep into his voice. Merlin didn't know if it worked, but he managed to breath and ask, “A bloody knife? Is this what its come too?”

“ _Talk_.” the guy said, his voice low and threatening. “ _Now._ ”

Merlin sank his teeth onto his tongue. He wasn’t hiding anything--he was as innocent as anyone else who stumbled into that godforsaken phone booth--but yet his words failed him. “Uh, talk about what? Because what I want to talk about is how I’m probably going to lose my job if I don’t get home and type up a story—.”

Merlin could feel the edge of the knife press harder against him, and he found himself holding his breath so it wouldn’t cut into him. “You’ll find yourself loosing a lot more than your job if you don’t start talking now.” the guy hissed.

“I don’t have to talk. I’m an innocent guy who just wanted to make a damn phone call, is that so hard to understand?” Merlin muttered under his breath. He hadn’t meant for the guy to hear it--other wise he would’ve said it louder—but he somehow caught it and Merlin didn’t have to be able to see to know his face was inches away from his. One dead give away was the fact he could feel the guy's breath. “You’re going to answer, or you’re going to regret that you didn’t, is _that_ so hard to understand? Now, how the hell did you know how to get in here?”

“And where exactly is here?” Merlin pressed, but when no response came, Merlin gave in and decided to give the guy what he wanted. The sooner Merlin answered his questions, the sooner he could get home and write himself out of the hole he dug at work. “It was going to rain, alright? I needed a ride and my phone was about to die. There was a phone booth and I thought what the heck.”

“And you just so happened knew the code? Riiight.” Came the response, dripping rich with sarcasm. After he said it Merlin launched into even more confusion. “I’m sorry, what? Code?”

“Oh, you’re good.” He said after a couple of minutes of silence, gently tugging the knife against Merlin’s stomach. “For a second I actually thought you were clueless and confused. Tell me, did Uther teach you that?”

The action sent a shiver through Merlin, and he couldn't help himself as he rolled his eyes and said, “Not as clueless as you are it seems.”

In a split second, he felt a forehead bang against his and even in the dark Merlin could see the murderous gleam in the guy’s eyes. “Code.” He snarled.

“I kicked the box.” Merlin blinked. “Not my fault your so called ‘code’ is defective.”

“Uther.” He said, his eyes narrowing to slits. Merlin couldn't tell if he was believing him, or deciding to end his life right then and there.

“Who the hell is Uther?” Merlin’s lips began to purse. “Why the hell is he so damn important here anyway? I could lose my _job_.”

“Enough about your damned job! I want answers, so give them—“

Merlin pushed his forehead against his and let out a small growl. “Look, I don’t think you heard me properly,” the knife began to press further into his skin, “I could lose my job. My life. Now I answered your damn questions so take me back up to wherever up is, got it?”

Merlin felt the knife retreat from his stomach quickly and he let out his breath that he seemed to be holding, but in one swift motion he saw the gleam of the knife and was struck with the handle in the back of the head. Pain seared through his head as he slumped against the wall, but before he fell unconscious he murmured, "Well, that's going to leave a bruise."

* * *

 

It wasn’t in Arthur’s day plans to be the only agent in the base at four in the morning, nor was it his plan to be walking right under the entrance tunnel when someone fell through it and landed right on top of him. To make matters worse, they just had to pull his hair.

Now he stood there with an unconscious idiot slumped against him in the dark.

Great.

Sighing, Arthur hooked the guy’s arms over his and began to drag him to the elevator, unfazed about the guy's heel’s dragging against the cement. Arthur was used to the base in the dark, and since he was leaving anyway, he didn’t feel like switching on the light switch just to switch it off again. He managed to maneuver his way to the elevator, but the guy’s legs managed to bump into more than one obstacle on the way there.

Arthur managed to press the ‘up’ button with his shoulder and in a minute or two a small _ding_ echoed throughout the empty room along with the elevator doors opening. Dragging the guy into the elevator and using it's light, Arthur finally was able to get a glimpse of the guy.

He wasn’t what Arthur expected at all. One thing being instead of being decked out in black like all agents of Uther’s, he was wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. He had dark hair that swept across his forehead that seemed to be demanding to be touched, which popped out due to his pale glow of his skin. He was slim, and even further down his face his cheekbones sharply popped out for Arthur's attention. His eyes were closed and his mouth was relaxed in a peaceful way--almost like he was sleeping and not knocked out. Arthur found himself staring longer than he’d liked.

The small _ding_ snapped himself out of his trance and gathering a breath, he grabbed the guy’s arms once more and dragged him out of the elevator and into the lobby of what seemed to be a police station. Once he was out of the lobby and into the street, a good ten feet away the phone box came into view. His gaze dropped from it and back to the unconscious idiot.

"Now," Arthur thought aloud, "where do I drop him?"

Suddenly, a buzzing snapped his attention. Arthur didn't feel his phone vibrating in his pant pocket so he looked at the sweatshirt. Carefully, Arthur removed the guy’s cell phone, dropping his arms and him in the process. He landed with a soft thud. Arthur didn't lift his gaze from the screen as a text message slid into view.

_‘Merlin, I can't sleep. Meet me at the bar again, please? –Gwen’_

Arthur’s gaze drifted back to him.

Merlin.

Merlin?

What kind of a name is Merlin?

But the bar was a better place as any for Arthur to drop him off as the phone died in his hands. Slipping the phone back into Merlin’s pocket, Arthur continued to drag him to the only bar in town, cursing when Merlin’s shoes would fumble off and Arthur would have to stop, drop Merlin, grab his shoes, and angrily shove them on his feet. When he got to the front door he dropped Merlin and straightened his back, letting out a sigh.

Then, he re-gathered himself and marched back to the station so he could slide into his car and go home.

* * *

When Arthur did finally manage to get home, he threw his keys on his kitchen counter and shuffled over to his unmade bed before collapsing onto it. His flat was always a mess, but Arthur made no attempt to tidy it for two reasons;

            One: No one came over Arthur’s apartment, so why?

            And two: He was too damn busy.

Clothes littered the floor, plates spilled out of the sink, darts were stuck in the wall instead of the bull’s-eye, empty cans covered his once glass coffee table, but Arthur didn’t care as he kicked of his work boots and wrestled his way out of his tie.

He was almost asleep when his own phone started to buzz in his pants pocket. Groggily, he snatched it and answered the call. “What?”

“Arrrthurrr!” a drunken voice cooed. Arthur let out a sigh. He knew very well whose voice this belonged to. “You should head over to Gwaine’s—hey, put down that vase!”

“No, Morgana.” Arthur mumbled. “I’m tired. I was held up at work and now I want to sleep.”

“How do you get held up if no one was there?” Morgana let out a laugh that quickly transitioned into a whine. “Please? One drink.”

“Goodnight Morgana.” Arthur sighed.

“Technically it’s ‘Good Morning’—“

He ended the call. He rubbed his eyes with his two fingers, trying to stop a migraine from forming. Letting out a sigh, he started to fall deeper into sleep, but before he fully fell under, he could almost hear _“Well, that's going to leave a bruise.”_

“Tchh,” Arthur sleepily whispered before falling asleep. “Idiot.”


End file.
